All Chapters of SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

For the first time since I had driven north into the snowstorm, I left the lake house.Cassian handed me a long black wool coat and a pair of leather gloves, then opened the passenger door of the Range Rover himself. The drive was only twenty minutes, but it felt like crossing an international border. The road wound along the frozen lake, pines heavy with fresh powder, until a pair of wrought-iron gates appeared. They swung open automatically, revealing a lighted drive that curved up to a modern glass-and-stone villa perched on the hillside like a jewel.Everett was waiting on the front steps, wearing a charcoal sweater and dark trousers, hands in his pockets, smile wide and welcoming. He looked every inch the gracious host, as if he had never pinned me against a bathroom wall and sucked bruises into my skin.“Ivy,” he said warmly, stepping forward to kiss both my cheeks European-style, lingering just long enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne. “You look stunning. I’m so

The redhead left right after lunch, waving cheerfully as Cassian walked her to the door. I stayed in the kitchen, stacking plates, trying to anchor myself in something ordinary. The clatter of dishes, the smell of lemon soap, the cold water on my wrists. Normal things. Safe things.Click.The sound made me freeze.I turned slowly.Cassian stood in the doorway, camera raised, lens pointed straight at me. The afternoon light poured through the windows behind him, catching the silver at his temples, turning his eyes storm-gray.“What are you doing?” I asked, voice barely above the running tap.He lowered the camera just enough for me to see his face.“You look beautiful like this,” he said, soft but certain. “Just stand there. Let me show you what I see.”I should have laughed. Should have told him to stop. Instead I stood rooted, water dripping from my fingers, heart suddenly loud in my ears.“Turn toward the window,” he said.I turned.Click. Click.“Hands in the sink again. Lean forwa

I woke before the sun, before the house stirred, before the lie could settle back over everything like fresh snow.I showered in water so hot it left my skin red, scrubbed every inch of myself until I couldn’t smell him anymore, then dressed in the plainest clothes I could find: gray sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, hair twisted into a knot. Armor. Distance. I needed both if I was going to survive the last thirty-six hours.Downstairs, the kitchen was still dark. I made coffee strong enough to burn, scrambled eggs I didn’t taste, and sat at the island staring at the plate like it had personally betrayed me.Cassian appeared twenty minutes later, barefoot in low-slung sweats, hair tousled from sleep, looking unfairly beautiful. He smiled when he saw me, that slow, warm smile that had started to live behind my ribs.“Morning, little girl.”He crossed the room, leaned down to kiss me like it was the most natural thing in the world.I turned my head. His lips brushed my cheek instead.He

Sleep became a stranger after I discovered the account.Every night I lay in the dark, phone glowing under the covers like a guilty secret, scrolling through CV Gallery until my eyes burned. The images were exquisite, haunting, erotic in a way that made my stomach twist with disgust and something darker I refused to name. My own blurred silhouette appeared again and again: the arch of my spine in the kitchen light, the curve of my hip against the marble counter, the way my back bowed when he told me to look at him.I hated them.I hated that strangers were looking at me, touching themselves to me, commenting with fire emojis and filthy suggestions.I hated that part of me still felt a sick thrill knowing he had chosen those exact frames.Then the message came.A private video attachment from a number I had deleted but still recognized instantly.I should have ignored it.I clicked play.The living-room couch. Firelight flickering over bare skin. Me, legs spread wide, Cassian moving in

I stumbled through my apartment door just after midnight, still tasting the library on my tongue: dust, paper, and Cassian’s mouth between my thighs. I locked the deadbolt, dropped my bag, and went straight to the shower. The water came out scalding. I stood under it with my eyes closed, trying to burn him off my skin. But the second the darkness hit behind my eyelids, I was back between the stacks: his shoulders forcing my legs apart, his tongue drawing that helpless moan from me while I clutched his hair like a lifeline. My eyes snapped open. I scrubbed harder, until my skin was pink and raw, but the ache between my legs only grew. I didn’t understand why he kept coming back. What more could he possibly want from me? The next day was my day off. Sarah dragged me to our old favorite café on Elm Street, the one with the mismatched chairs and the best lavender lattes in the city. It was packed, Saturday brunch crowd, laughter and clinking cups everywhere. For a little while i